Infidelity
by Bianca Castafarina
Summary: WARNING: Non-con, violence! - Tintin loves his Captain. He's never planned to cheat on him. But it has happened. How will Tintin deal with the guilt and shame? How will Haddock deal with the betrayal and anger? And most importantly, will their relationship survive? - Updated with PWP sequel.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Captain Haddock was constantly worried I might encounter danger. Usually his concern for my well-being was adorable and made me feel cared for, but sometimes it was a bit too much.

„It's just an interview, Captain!" I grabbed my coat and Moleskine notebook. „I'm the _only_ reporter he'll talk to. _Le Vingtieme Siécle_ promised me an extra bonus! Who knows when such a chance will come up again?"

Had I not stared into the face of death several times, and escaped from the stickiest messes all by myself? Did I not possess excellent fighting abilities and superior instincts that had ensured my survival throughout the most dangerous predicaments? It was almost as though my lover deliberately ignored those things, presuming I was a little boy who constantly had to be protected and guarded.

„It's _dangerous_!" Haddock insisted, taking my hand into his. „What if they find out you interviewed him? What if they hunt you too for writing about them? Thundering typhoons, that is no single madman or gangster you're dealing with! Please, _mon amour_, not this time. Not this job. Aren't there plenty of others?"

Exasperated, I just nodded. 'They', of course, referred to one of the major criminal organizations: the Cosa Nostra, also known as the Sicilian mafia. My subject to be interviewed, an intrepid reporter-turned-detective much like myself, had gone undercover in Brussels after he had exposed crucial persons and methods of the Cosa Nostra.

But that sort of thing had never kept me from doing my job. On the contrary: it was the thrill of adventure that kept me in business. 'One day this will get you killed', a little voice in the back of my head sometimes admonished me; but I always ignored it.

„See you later, darling!" I kissed him onto the mouth and headed out the door. As usual he did not try to hold me back – that would have been futile and he'd known it for many years. „Tintin always gets what he wants", he often said jokingly about me, but it was true.

.

.

The tavern-motel was a small, dingy place on the border of the Red Light district.

I had been waiting for an hour already. There was no way to contact my interviewee – I did not even know where he lived. He had simply promised to meet me here, and I could not let such a chance pass.

I was getting frustrated. My second beer was already finished. Why did he not show up?

While I was pondering the question of whether to wait or leave, I saw someone descend the stairs from the upstairs motel rooms.

It was _not_ my Italian rendez-vous. „_Mon Dieu_", I gasped as soon as I recognized him.

It was General Alcazar.

He was still as lean as he'd been when I, Haddock and Calculus had stayed at his camp with the Picaros in the San Theodosian jungle three years ago. His hair was shorter, though, and he no longer had sideburns. For a moment I did not know what to say, for it was basically my fault that he was on the run.

It was me who back then had forced the promise from him that he would not have Tapioca executed. So Tapioca had returned from exile earlier this year, successfully attempting a new coup d'état from which Alcazar barely managed to escape with his life only to go into hiding. I remembered how anxious I had been when watching the news about it. No one knew Alcazar's whereabouts – except now for me.

Had I allowed him to execute Tapioca, he would not be here now. „_Bonjour_... General", I finally said, breaking the awkward silence, telling myself I was not to blame for his fall. Alcazar and Tapioca had been playing cat-and-mouse for a long time, hadn't they?

„Well, yes, _amigo_." He grinned. „It's exactly what it looks like. I'm a hunted man now. But don't worry, I'm not staying here. Just passing through."

The inquisitive reporter in me took over. „Where are you going?"

He broke into laughter, slapping me onto the back so hard that I almost keeled over. „Now, _amigo_, if there's one person I trust it's you – but the walls have ears, you know? I'm in mortal danger. No one must know where I am. But..." - he leaned closer to my ear, voice changing into a conspirational whisper, „as a reporter, would you be interested in some highly explosive information about the new San Theodoros government?"

„Yes", I said breathlessly. „Yes, of course!"

.

.

.

We sat in ex-General Alcazar's motel room and he told me the story of his escape, providing me with documents that showed evidence that the new Tapioca government was deliberately ignoring the Geneva Conventions, violating human rights in the most abominable ways. „I know it's not much", he said, „but I'll do whatever I can do discredit Tapioca. It's the truth, after all. If his international reputation is ruined, I might have another chance."

I did not believe Alcazar would truly ever get another opportunity to seize power in San Theodoros but I promised him to make the information public, enthusiastically scribbling notes into my Moleskine on the small, wonky table of the dingy motel room.

„You know..." I finally said, „I haven't forgotten how you and your Picaros saved our lives. If there's anything we can do for an old friend-"

He waved his hand dismissingly. „No, no, I shall not drag you and Captain Haddock into this! How could I? They might suspect me hiding at your place! No, but _muchas gracias_."

Looking at him, I noticed the worry lines on his forehead, more pronounced than they had been back then. His once-deep suntan had lost some color; and his five-o'clock-shadow was darker than usual, the result of neglected shaving habits. This was a man who had nothing to lose.

I ripped a paper sheet out of my notebook, scribbling the telephone number of Marlinspike Hall onto it. „Anyway, here's our number. If you need help from friends, just call us, okay?"

That was when we heard the loud knocking on the door.

For the fright it gave me it could as well have been a salve of bullets. „Police!" a commanding voice from the hallway barked. „Open the door!"

We jumped up from our chairs.

Whoever was outside did not wait for me to open the door. They simply kicked it in as though it was made of cardboard, and we found ourselves facing two Brussels police officers in their navy blue uniforms, pointing guns at me and Alcazar. „You're under arrest", one of them shouted.

Something was off. Just a small detail... but it was off.

Their uniforms...

_Their uniforms!_ „Those aren't policemen" I screamed at Alcazar who realized it the very same instant. „RUN!"

.

.

General Tapioca's agents chased us through the busy, wide-laned Rue de Brabant, but the rush hour traffic hindered their motorcycles so we still managed to escape on foot. They had not fired any shots yet, possibly because of the great number of passersby, but Alcazar assured me, breathless as he ran, that Tapioca's hirelings did not give a damn about human lives.

I knew Bruxelles much better than he did so he followed me willingly when I, believing we had escaped their field of vision for a moment, hurried around the corner into an one-way lane. „Faster", I panted, amazed he could keep up with my speed. Running past dumpsters and parked cars I suddenly heard the sound of the motorcycles approaching us. They had found us.

We passed a group of boys who screamed when the first gunshot blasted through the air.

No time to hide!

„_Mierda_", Alcazar hissed.

Again they shot at us, and I felt a whiff of air above me as one bullet grazed my quiff.

„Run", I panted, grabbing him by the sleeve of his coat. We made a sharp turn around the corner, and I heard the motorbikes' screeching tires behind me but there was no time to analyze the situation. We were back in a busy street full of the hustle and bustle of a late afternoon; and I dragged Alcazar across the road, causing several cars to come to a sudden halt with angrily screaming brakes.

There was a loud noise behind me. People shouting and yelling. But no time to look back. Running into a small lane I registered that both the sound of the motors and the gunfire had ceased. We jumped behind a pair of dumpsters, and after startling a homeless man from his peaceful sleep, we half ran, half sneaked through a partly closed gate into an empty courtyard.

Silence.

We had done it! We had escaped!

I had barely leaned against the wall, my chest drawing heaving breaths, when it happened.

Looking back I cannot remember _how_ it happened, not even who started it; but the next thing I felt was Alcazar's body fiercely pressed against mine, slamming me to the wall; and my mouth met his.

I remember my heart pumping fast not just from the recent exertion but also from the adrenaline rush surging through my entire body. Alcazar's tongue plunged into my mouth, his pelvis was grinding against mine and I responded with the same desperate force, growling and squirming under his violent grip to possess him as much as he struggled to possess me. Although my vision and hearing seemed heightened at the moment to the point of unbearable intensity I fail to recall why I did this.

Why did I lift my leg, wrapping it around his waist to make him rub harder and closer against me? Where did it come from, the sudden animalistic urge to feel him, to have him fill out the depths of my core? All I suddenly knew was that I wanted him inside me.

But we did not manage it that far. The entire madness was but a matter of seconds, and ended as quickly as it had started. I was a heaving, panting mess with sweaty skin and seed-soiled jeans as I separated from him, noticing he looked very much the same way.

No one spoke. My heart was still racing.

I turned around and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I walked home in a daze.

Nothing had changed at Marlinspike Hall within the last few hours. Nestor was friendly and formal as ever; Snowy jumped around me, overjoyed at my return; and Cat, the nameless Siamese, gave me her usual reproachful stare.

„The Master is anxious to see you", Nestor confided in me as he took my coat. „He seemed distraught, saying you were in danger."

„I know." It was amazing how casually I could brush off everyone's justified concern, considering I had just escaped running from a hail of bullets together with San Theodoros' number one _persona non grata_. With whom I'd had an explosive, adrenaline-fueled orgasm, pinned between him and a random, grimy, anonymous house wall.

It was so unlike me, letting a base instinct take over my mind that I spent a good amount of time listening to myself, to check if I was truly the same person as before. But my own self seemed so familiar to me that – despite the evidence in my jeans – I almost convinced myself that the incident must have been a dream.

Dream or not; the intense kick I had experienced was burning in my memory and would probably stay embellished there forever. And kicks were addictive. Was there possibly a way to relive it?

_It's not cheating,_ I told myself over and over again. _There was no sex._ I had not been unfaithful. Furthermore there was no way such a thing could happen again, was there? To lose my mind like that another time? Impossible!

Having changed into pajama pants I sat down on the bed next to Captain Haddock, the soft, silky sheets of the 17th century-four-poster-bed a stark contrast to the hard, cold, rundown wall against which Alcazar had pressed my body only hours ago.

„Come here, my boy, _mon amour!_" Haddock opened his arms so I could nestle against his broad chest and shoulders. „Tell me, how did the interview go?"

I had already sorted out my thoughts, having decided I could not possibly lie to my lover, but I would leave out that brief episode which even I did not comprehend at all; that incident which could have been a product of my adventure-starved, understimulated imagination. Maybe I would tell him another time when I could explain myself better. But not now.

„Well... it went all wrong", I said sheepishly.

He raised an eyebrow in concern.

„The Italian journalist didn't show up. I waited more than an hour. But then I met someone else. Guess who!"

Intrigued, Haddock tried several names, mentioning even Colonel Sponsz and Bianca Castafiore until he finally asked, „Alcazar?"

„Yes! He's here in Brussels, undercover! Tapioca's agents are on his track! He told me about the new government and I promised to write an article... I wrote it all down in my notebook-"

_Wait a minute. _My notes?

I could not remember whether I'd possessed the presence of mind to grab my Moleskine before running from Tapioca's uniform-clad trigger-happy thugs.

_Merde!_

„And then?" Haddock asked.

I decided I would return to the motel later and try to retrieve my notes. „Well, we were attacked..." I told him the entire story of our escape, leaving out only the very last bit.

Haddock's arms were tensing around me. „Blistering barnacles, lad! I knew it!" It sounded like a reproach. „Again you've risked your life!"

I did not reply, feeling in no mood to act defensive. Honestly, it was not my fault, but even if it was – did the Captain not know that I was someone he could believe to be capable of facing danger? He knew me well, didn't he? Adventure was my element. He had known that from the first moment we met!

I pressed myself closer to him, feeling his warm skin and regular heartbeat through the white undershirt; his usual nightwear in combination with boxer shorts.

„Y'know, Tintin..." He caressed my face and neck with the merest touch of calloused fingertips, sending a pleasurable shiver through my body. „I'm sorry, it's just... I can't bear the idea of losing you. I want you so much it hurts. Every time I'm with you I fear it could be our last time."

„Captain..."

„I won't let Death take you from me, by thunder!" He kissed me, his beard rough and ticklish on my face. I remembered how Alcazar's stubble had felt even coarser, more scratchy, and felt a pang of guilt for thinking about the ex-General. I was not supposed to make comparisons!

But I could not help it. Haddock was the opposite of what I imagined Alcazar to be in bed.

The Captain's hands were trailing along my body, his touch familiar yet effective, and soon I was hungry for more. „Archie", I whispered, impatiently reaching for his shorts, desperately wanting that which I had not gotten earlier today.

He smiled, gently pushing me back onto the bed. „Can't wait, you little siren, eh?" He unbuttoned my pajama shirt, kissing my collarbone and neck and then paused for a moment.

Sudden fear seized me. Was there possibly a mark on my skin? My memory of the incident was blurred – I could not remember whether he'd only kissed me or gone further with his mouth and teeth. But when I looked at Haddock, he seemed to be simply contemplating. „You're so beautiful", he said at last. He was not a man of big words, rather letting his admiring gaze speak for itself.

„Captain... Please..." I began, searching for words.

„Yes, _mon amour?_" He nibbled at my ear, licking over the earlobe, teasing one of my sensitive spots. The warm wetness there always drove me crazy.

„Don't be gentle with me..." I tried to express that what my body longed for; a new, unfamiliar sensation that made it difficult to find words for, even for a writer like myself. „I want... I just want to be ravished. Just once. Be ruthless, take what you need..." My face was heating up, blushing deeply. „_Use _me."

For the fraction of a second I believed to have seen desire in his eyes, but his surprise was much greater. We looked at each other, and for a moment I felt only embarrassment.

„You want _what?_" he asked, astounded. Apparently he thought he'd misunderstood me. „To treat you like... like a whore?"

„What if I said yes?" It was difficult not to escape his gaze, but I had to stand by my feelings.

„Well, of course...", he muttered. „I've never thought that _you_... thundering typhoons! I mean, you... my _angel_." Now he, too, was blushing. „Yes. Of course."

He placed one gentle, lingering kiss on my mouth before yanking down my pajama pants and undershorts. Excitement surged through me, and I quickly turned around to lie on my stomach.

Despite trying not to, I found myself wondering: what if that robust, warm body above me were not Haddock's, but Alcazar's? How would the touches and sounds of a fiery Latino guerrilla compare to those of a tender, considerate British gentleman (albeit hidden beneath the gruff exterior of a tough sea captain)?

No! I scolded myself. How could I fantasize about other men when Haddock did everything to make sure I was happy and satisfied, over and over again?

It was not right.

But this- oh! - _this_ was right, I thought, when I felt his hands lovingly squeezing and rubbing down my backside. I always loved being fondled like that, ever unable to get enough of his rough, gentle hands. Especially when he used them to spread my thighs apart which always made me wanting and ready with anticipation.

One hand left my skin, and I heard Haddock rummage through the night-table drawer.

„Forget the lube", I moaned. „Just take me, please."

„I shan't hurt you, darling", he whispered, carressing my back, and then I felt a finger, cold and slippery, around my entrance. I was quite sure that I had enough practice by now to accommodate him without additional lubrication but he did not want to try that. The first time had been a little painful for me; and in his own words he would be „damned if I ever hurt you again".

Even now he still had to push the battering ram a few times before the door gave way. The first breach, so big and slow and forceful, was the most delightful, and I groaned into the pillow, arching my bottom closer to him.

Clasping one hand around my own aching erection and using the other to support myself on the bed I rocked back and forth, moving against Haddock's hips.

It was not quite the aggressive treatment I had hoped for. He would probably never _ravish_ me. But I knew I was the luckiest young man on earth, having the most wonderful lover...

A hard thrust.

„Ah-", I sighed, encouraging him. Please, please, more, Al- _Archie...!_

… the most wonderful lover who could keep up with my insatiable appetite – quite a feat for a man almost twice my age.

_How old is Alcazar, anyway?_

Stroking myself harder I felt hot blooded passion rushing through me, tension accumulating and building up. Haddock adjusted his angle, somehow managing to hit my sweet spot head-on, and I cried out as he drove me closer and closer, and finally over the edge.

Afterward we spent at least an hour sprawled out next to each other on the crumpled bedsheets, exhausted and sated, before I made myself comfortable in his arms, feeling like a wretched liar. My conscience would not leave me alone. How could I ever compare him to another man? It was me, wasn't it? I had everything I could wish for, and yet I _wanted_.

There must be something wrong with me.

.

.

.

Later I checked my coat pockets. My notebook was not there.

.

.

.

The next morning Nestor brought the telephone to the breakfast table. An anonymous caller wanted to talk to me.

My suspicion was confirmed when I heard Alcazar's voice, hoarse from years of smoking and with a Southern American accent, through the receiver. „You forgot your notes, _amigo._ You want to come and get them?"

„You have my notebook?" I asked incredulously, hardly able to believe he'd been perceptive enough to grab a journalist's most important tool in a moment of panic when not even the journalist himself had remembered to do so.

„Yes, of course. You can come and get it before noon. Then I'll change motels again. This is my current address-"

I scribbled it down, observing Captain Haddock's curious expression in front of me. He'd been eating crepes and was clearly distracted, listening to every word I said.

„Okay", I said. „Got it. I'll be there. Thank you for saving my notes."

Alcazar's voice lowered. „You liked that, eh, didn't you?"

„What?" I blurted out.

„C'mon... you know what I mean. Real horny, weren't you?" His voice was a raspy whisper.

I slammed the receiver back onto the phone before my face had a chance to turn hot and flustered. My embarrassed gaze met the Captain's confused one.

„It's all right", I said quickly. „I've been lucky. Thought my notebook was lost."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The motel was at the outskirts of the town so I took my motorcycle there. For reasons I sensed but did not want to spell out I was excited, relishing the delectable tension in my stomach and accelerating my vehicle harder than usual.

Arriving at the motel, I had to answer several questions about myself and Alcazar before he would let me in – he was now even more cautious than ever.

Finally I was allowed to enter. My heart raced when I opened the door and there stood ex-General Alcazar, wearing nothing but a white towel around his hips. The contrast emphasized his tanned skintone, drawing my attention to the coarse hair on his chest. On his stomach – so taut and muscular, unlike the Captain's – there was a patch of dark hair beneath his navel that pointed downward like an inverted triangle.

I swallowed hard. „My... er... notebook", was all I managed to croak before he casually motioned me to come closer.

All the memories of yesterday's moment of heat were back, sharp and acute images and sensations hitting my mind with full force. I was sweating under my trench coat, feeling an inevitable erection arise.

Alcazar sat down on the edge of the small, wonky motel bed which responded with a creaking sound as though insulted. He seemed calm and composed. „C'mon here, _amigo_", he said. „Forget the world out there. Don't think of your job for a moment.

No one knows you're here, and no one will ever know. _Ever._ There's a good chance we'll never meet again but if we do, nothing will be different. You'll still be Tintin, the famous intrepid reporter, and I'll hopefully will be President as usual. All right?"

I nodded slowly. A part of me was indeed ready to forget about my everyday life for just this one moment. Alcazar was calming me, eliminating my doubts, silencing the protests of my conscience.

„Just an adventure", he said. „That's what you're all about, right?"

Yes, he was right. I lived for adventure; and the honorable young reporter, the conscientious Boy Scout and faithful lover who would not have dared imagine this kind of adventure in his wildest fantasies was suddenly ready for anything.

I undressed hastily, amazed at how easy it was. Feeling and not minding his hungry gaze upon my body. _Au contraire_, I was high-spirited, throwing myself into an exciting fling. One lived only once, and risks made life worth living...

I sat down onto the bed next to him.

Alcazar threw himself at me like a starved dog, sucking my skin and bruising my neck with haphazardous bites.

He was so unlike the Captain who was a tender lover, who had never handled me this roughly – and to my own surprise I found myself burning with sudden want, surrendering to Alcazar's ungentle touch, moaning with desire.

He held my wrists down with his firm grip, and for the first time I found myself dominated and at someone's mercy in bed. And amazingly the thrill was more intense than I could have guessed.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and wriggling my arms free with newfound, passion-driven strength, I dug my fingernails into the flesh of his back, pulling him down, closer to me.

I was begging for more. Encouraging him not to hold back, to lose all control just as I did.

He had barely prepared me with a saliva-coated finger when I pulled his hair and demanded that he fuck me at once. Turning me around, pushing me facedown onto the bed –_ mon Dieu_, he was so strong! - he slapped my backside and I flinched, savouring the burn on my skin. Muttering a curse in Spanish he rubbed his erection between my butt cheeks before entering me roughly.

I bit my hand, but holding back my voice proved impossible. He thrust into me, hard and fast. I felt his hand on my head, grabbing my hair.

The bed shaked and groaned but I was louder. Soon he pressed my face down onto the mattress, muffling my cries and curses.

He growled, pounding into me ruthlessly, grinding away pent-up stress and aggression.

His grip loosened just in time for me to raise my head and catch some air. I was gasping, breathing heavily, wild with unbridled desire; feeling utterly filled, stretched and burning, and yet it was nowhere near enough.

I wished he'd never stop.

.

.

.

Afterward he smoked a cigar; and I struggled to fit my sock garters around my trembling legs with shaky fingers. I had wiped my skin with a handkerchief but the insides of my thighs still felt sticky.

I needed a shower very badly. But not here. Not now. I could not bear another minute with him nearby.

Awkward silence hung between us.

Never before in my entire life had I felt this miserable. 'I'm so sorry, Captain', a small voice in my head whispered, 'I'm so sorry, Archie, I'm so sorry', like a tape stuck in a loop. When I had finished dressing at last I approached the door, unable to look at that man who was still naked, sitting on the bed.

„Wait", he said.

I turned around.

He pointed to my Moleskine that lay on the rugged night-table next to the bed. „Your notes."

„R... right", I stammered. „_Merci_." Mumbling a weak good-bye – carefully avoiding the _au revoir _– I took the notebook and stepped outside.

When I stood on the street, back in the real world, I felt nauseous at the insight that there were depths in my own soul that I had not known, much less acted on.

I sensed that there must be at least two hickeys on my neck, and I pulled up the collar of my trench coat. How would I hide those from Captain Haddock? _Tintin, you are such an idiot. Nothing good ever comes of thinking with the other head._

Riding home I tried to tell myself that it had been a mere one-time-encounter of the sort that people called a 'quickie'. Something perfectly natural and normal that millions of people did every day. I should not waste my time ruminating about it. _It's only sex, nothing more_._..Right?_And it had been Alcazar who had seduced me. The longer I thought about it, the more certain it seemed to me that I would never have started such a thing out of my own initiative.

Never had I needed a shower more badly. Alcazar's scent was barely discernible on my skin, but it was definitely present. There was absolutely no way I could go home like this. Haddock surely would notice a difference, however insignificant. All of a sudden, I felt as though I was wearing a huge sign announcing my sin for the entire public to acknowledge.

_Damn it, calm down, Tintin._ I would stop at my old apartment in Rue de Labrador to take a shower before returning to Marlinspike Hall.

And then I would sever all ties with Alcazar. I would never contact him again and never let him contact me. It was the only way to make sure such an episode would never happen again.

.

.

.

Back in my old home, the bachelor apartment in Rue de Labrador, the first thing on my agenda was to undress again, as hastily as I could manage, and to step under the shower. The tepid water was dyed with rust and took a while to heat up, but at the moment it was the most welcome shower I'd had in months; and I used the dried-out, hardened slab of soap generously.

While blow-drying my hair I checked myself in the mirror; and to my great relief there were no clearly visible hickeys on my neck – just a pale one that would be hidden under my regular dress shirt collar. So I would not have to fall back upon the scratchy, shapeless turtleneck pullover I had worn in Scotland.

Dressing in a hurry, trying to think of a plausible explanation why I had taken so long just to retrieve my notebook, I was still forced to listen to the reprimands of my conscience.

It simply would not shut up.

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.

.

Later during the same day I visited a place I had not frequented in years.

The Church of Saint-Maurice belonged to the same order of monks that ran the orphanage where I had been raised. Although I had never been able to identify with the strange beliefs and rituals of Catholicism (beyond a naive childhood faith that had lasted until I was about eleven), I instantly felt at home when I stepped inside the dark, imposing stone building with its cool, damp air.

Around this time there was always someone in the confessional. I knelt down at the wooden screen and made the sign of the cross. „Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." The procedure was foreign, yet strangely familiar.

„How have you sinned, my son?" The priest's deep voice was one I did not recognize. Of course. It had been too long. At least ten years since my last confession. I decided to address just that one matter that weighed upon me. „I have..." Clutching my motorcycle keys, I shifted around uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench. „I have been unfaithful to my... my wife."

„Hrmh." The priest did not seem impressed. He probably heard those words on a regular basis. He mumbled something about responsibility and the vice of lust before asking me to speak the act of contrition, for which I barely recalled the correct words. The sacrament concluded with the priest's order to say ten Hail Marys, and the absolution in Latin, a centuries-old formula. I still remembered the words with which it ended. „_Ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Dei patris et filii et spiritus sancti_.

Go in peace, my son."

.

.

.

The telephone call came a week later.

I had been able to repress the memory of my encounters with Alcazar well enough to enjoy the Captain's company without having to listen to the scolding voice in my head. The past was over and done with. Never, ever would I betray my lover again – thus a part of me came to the conclusion that I would never have to tell him; that I should pretend my brief bit on the side had never happened.

And now my efforts had been futile.

I sat at my typewriter, writing about the new San Theodosian government because I had nothing else to do at the moment – at least no more exciting stories to investigate. Captain Haddock entered my room, looking serious. „Tintin, there's something I need to ask you about."

„Yes? What is it?"

„General Alcazar just called."

I felt my entire body stiffen, and leant back in the chair in an effort to look relaxed. „And...?" I was genuinely curious, but also alarmed.

„He's in trouble. Says that he doesn't feel safe anymore. He's asking for shelter here."

I stared at him, even more alarmed now, but tried to hide it. „Shelter... with us?"

„Yes, here at Marlinspike Hall. Of course I can't refuse. We owe him, y'know. I just wanted to make sure it's all right with you."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

This was not good. This was not good at all.

But what could I do? I knew as well as Captain Haddock that granting the ex-General a sort of political asylum was the decent thing to do. After all, hadn't he hidden us in the jungle back then? Without him and the Picaros we most certainly would have died there.

„I don't care who's chasing him", Haddock had said. „I'll be damned if I don't help an old friend."

I had just nodded, wondering that all of a sudden Haddock challenged the danger. As though he'd read my mind, the Captain said, „Don't worry, _mon amour,_ if anyone dares attack us here, I'll protect you."

Alcazar, however, did find several ways to tease me. Winking at me at the common breakfast and dinner table. Giving me a light slap on the bottom when Haddock was not looking. Caressing my thigh under the table where no one could see it.

I had to put an end to this. But how to catch a moment alone with Alcazar? The Captain seemed more protective than ever, apparently fearing that Tapioca's thugs could jump out from behind a corner at any moment, perhaps to kidnap me so they could demand Alcazar as a ransom.

One afternoon Alcazar appeared in my workroom unexpectedly, wearing a smug grin on his devilishly handsome face. I interrupted my reading of reference material, feeling a disturbing thrill at the realization that I finally was alone with him once more.

But I would not allow any more of my past oversteppings of boundaries. I must use this occasion to tell him clearly, unmistakably, that there would be no more adventures between us.

„So it's true what everyone thinks", Alcazar said with a wide grin, stepping right in front of me. „You and the Captain are a couple, aren't you?"

I stood up from my chair so I was facing him, though he still was almost a head taller than me. „That does not matter at all. I wanted to tell you... we will stop whatever it was we were having. No more flings. No sex. No flirting. Nothing at all. You understand me?"

He raised his eyebrows, staring at me for a moment, then whistled. „_¡__Mil bombas!_ So it's true! You... you, Tintin, of all people!"

I was blushing, and my hands started to feel clammy. „I've made myself clear, General. There will be nothing more between us. Got that?"

He laughed, face brightened as though he'd just had a major epiphany. „You stepped out on him!" He clapped his hands. „Wow! I cannot believe it... _¡__Madre de Dios! _You... you, how do they say? …you made _cuckold _of him!"

I breathed in deeply, struggling to keep my composure. „You got me. Please leave now."

He made no move to leave the room. Instead, he ogled me from top to bottom, still with that incredibly smug expression. „Wow", he said a bit more quietly, „you must be quite a _puta_, Tintin, if one man isn't enough for you."

The way he looked at me made my innards squirm in an excitingly pleasurable way. But I could not allow myself to give in to his charms. „Go, please", I said weakly.

He launched forward, wrapping one arm around my waist and holding my nape in the iron grip of his other hand. His voice was deep and raspy. „I know what you need. And I'll give it to you, better than he can. Real rough and good... that's what you want, isn't it, _amigo_?"

„Wait!... I-"

He jutted his thigh forward, rubbing it against my groin, forcing my legs open. I felt my knees turn to jelly when his hands suddenly were all over me, leaving searing memories on my skin.

My body was craving, wanting.

„You like that, don't you", Alcazar purred, fumbling with the buttons and zipper of my jeans.

„Stop it!" I protested, squirming in his firm hold. My words felt strangely wrong since my body wanted nothing more than to be conquered by him again. The mere memory of our last encounter made me hard and ready.

„No", I panted. „No!"

Alcazar did not stop but turned me around roughly, pushing me against the wall. I was trapped between him and cool wooden tiles; and when his hands tugged at my jeans I was confused: why did a deep uneasiness hit me so suddenly when his touch felt so good?

In the next instant I realized why: he was ignoring my protests, not listening to my 'no'. Of course I felt uncomfortable!

This man would not accept a 'no'.

My mouth stood open in disbelief as I felt him grind his pelvis against my bottom, his rock hard erection shamelessly poking me through the fabric of both our pants.

_He wouldn't...!_

„No!" I shouted, frightened, grabbing the hem of my opened pants to keep them in place, but he already had pulled them halfway down. „Alcazar!" My voice was sharp, loud. „Stop it!"

He would do it. He would take me by force, thinking it was all an exciting, wicked game. He would_ rape_ me.

And even worse: my body would betray me.

The thrill combined with fear rushing through me at this moment was so intense that I felt nauseated at myself. _What on earth is wrong with me? _My face was hot, and the effects of adrenaline were heightening every sensation.

Appalled at my own reaction, I fought back with a vengeance, turning around to face him. „No", I screamed. „Let go, god damn it! This is no game!"

At last he froze, loosening his grip around me. „What-" he began.

„NO! Stop it! THIS IS NO FUCKING GAME!"

Alcazar backed off, clearly surprised at my aggressive manner. He lifted his palms in a defensive gesture, opening his mouth to speak, and for a second we just stood there, and I noticed how my body was trembling. My knees almost gave way and I barely managed not to slide onto the floor.

But I was not prepared for what happened next.

„Tintin" Haddock shouted from outside. Instantly the door crashed open and the Captain rushed inside the room. He froze when he saw both of us, and soon the look on his face changed from genuine surprise to horrified realization.

I wanted to gather my wits, to say something, to explain this situation that must have looked _wrong_ to him, absolutely wrong – how we stood there with hot faces, and my jeans open and shirt dishevelled -

But it was too late.

Captain Haddock leaped at Alcazar, grabbing him at the shirt collar and took a swing.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Haddock was fast, but Alcazar reacted faster. The Captain's fist missed the ex-General's nose by mere centimeters but still landed on the side of Alcazar's face hard enough to send him stumbling backward through the room.

„Great snakes", I shouted. „Stop it!"

My voice was drowned by a cascade of curses that Haddock directed at Alcazar. „How dare you, you impudent macho of a freshwater politician! How dare you molest Tintin? You vandal! Ectoplasmic byproduct! Bootlegger! Iconoclast!"

„For Heaven's sake, calm down!" I moved quickly to stand between the two men before Haddock could attack him again.

Alcazar did not seem fazed. He stroked his jaw where he'd taken the hit, and grinned. „If you only knew, Captain." His voice was calm.

Haddock was staring at him, breathing heavily, face contorted with anger.

Alcazar chuckled, assuming a confident stance. His expression was one of triumph. „Your pretty _muchacho_ ain't the saint you think he is." He paused for effect.

Haddock kept staring at him, and I could see the doubt in his eyes. When he finally spoke he had calmed down a bit. „Get out", he commanded. „You're no longer welcome. Leave now... _General!_" He spat out the last word as though it was a disgusting, inedible object.

„As you wish." Alcazar raised his hand in a mock salutation and disappeared through the door, looking back once to wink at me, grinning widely.

The door closed with a low click.

„And I trusted him!" Haddock said, still shocked, shaking his head in disbelief. „That son of a cucumber! How could I be so wrong?"

We were alone and I could hardly bear to look at my lover. At last he took me into his arms, just a tad more hesitatingly as usual. „What happened, Tintin?" he asked, making me look at him so I could clearly see the doubt and confusion in his eyes. „How... did he molest you?"

Still I somehow managed to avoid his gaze. My innards were tense, feeling heavy with the weight of guilt.

I should wait. This was not the right moment to tell him.

No, I corrected myself. I must not let my guilt delay the inevitable moment of truth. I had to tell him right now.

„Captain", I began, fidgeting nervously as I was feeling awkwardly stiff in his embrace. „I've been meaning to tell you..."

He made a step back, leaving his hands on my upper arms, and scrutinized me with an intense, concerned look. „What is it, Tintin?" His voice was low.

My stomach tightened with guilt and shame, and I had to force the words out. „I had sex with Alcazar."

There was a moment of silence. Haddock's hands clasped around my arms firmer, then he looked away, chuckling awkwardly. „Surely you mean... back then? During your first job in San Theodoros, all those years ago... before we met?" He shook his head, as though to discount what he'd just heard.

„No", I replied. „Last week."

It took him several seconds to process what I had said.

He took his hands away, and I noticed they were trembling. His gaze was downcast, avoiding mine.

„It was consensual", I added.

To see him so humiliated was painful for me, too. But I oppressed the tears with all my power. He was the one being hurt now, not me!

He said nothing, simply looked down. The silence was unbearable, and I could not help but break it. „I'm sorry, Captain", I said. „It was the worst mistake I ever made. I'm so sorry. I..." Reasons, excuses and justifications rushed through my mind but deep down I knew they were worthless and invalid, and would not serve to explain anything. I had made a bad choice, and that was all.

At last he looked at me.

If only he'd show his rage. If only he'd express his hurt and anger with the familiar curses and colorful vocabulary, furious enough to raise the late Sir Francis Hadoque from his grave. That was the Captain Haddock I knew and loved.

No such thing happened. He stayed silent. The quiet disappointment in his face spoke louder than any of his usual swearword avalanches. Then he slowly shook his head.

„I'm sorry", I repeated. My words were sincere but sounded futile and pointless.

„Please leave", he said.

Of course I had expected words like those; yet it was a different thing, almost a surprise, to actually hear them. I blinked. „Um... what-"

„You heard me." He motioned at the door with a shaky hand movement. „Leave. Get out of here. _Now!"_

The tears in my eyes made it easy for me to turn around quickly, and exit the room before he could see me cry.

I hurried through the empty hallways of Marlinspike Hall, barely noticing Snowy's tiny, shuffling footsteps as he followed me in confused silence. I prayed that I would not run into Alcazar. Not even Nestor would be a welcome company for my miserable, red-eyed, snot-nosed self right now.

In my room – his room, to be more precise, since Marlinspike Hall was still entirely his – I called a taxi, then collected my most important personal things and clothes, and stuffed them into a suitcase.

Carefully avoiding Nestor with his ever-permanent eagle eyes – God knew he was the most discreet butler on earth and absolutely trustworthy, but I was not sure I could stand his knowing gaze right now because it was _me_ who had betrayed his master – I sneaked out of Marlinspike Hall, and waited for the taxi.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

A loud knock on my apartment door woke me from my sleep. Quickly glancing at the watch I realized it was too late even for sleeping in, and for a moment I wondered sleepily why I was in my old bachelor bedroom in my apartment in Rue de Labrador, and not at Marlinspike Hall.

I pushed aside the musty bedsheets, coughing when a cloud of dust hit my face.

Eleven o'clock. Noon sun shone through the unwashed windows, illuminating dust particles dancing in a pale ray of light.

I opened the door and found myself face-to-face with my landlady Mrs Finch. Her expression was one of worry and concern. „_Bonjour_, Mr Tintin. You haven't left your flat for two days. Is everything all right?"

Two days already? Crumbs! What had I done in those two days?

I had tried to clean up the place, yes... But most of that time had been spent chasing unproductive, melancholic daydreams, and sleeping. Had I eaten at all? My stomach was suddenly rumbling.

„Thank you Mrs Finch." My voice felt out of practice. „I'm fine. Just a little exhausted."

She nodded understandingly. „All that adventure. It'll do you good, getting a wee bit of rest. Let me know when you want a mug of hot cocoa."

„You're most kind, Madame. _Merci_."

When she was gone, I took a deep breath.

There was still some canned soup, beans, dog food, and chocolate and crackers left in my kitchen. During a lone lunch – Snowy devoured the expired dog food with great appetite – I contemplated my options. Actually there was only one: I had to go back to Marlinspike Hall, meet Captain Haddock and apologize properly.

I would ask for forgiveness.

What I had done had been a huge mistake. Betraying the person I loved most, for the sake of a quick, forgettable fling with someone I did not even care very much about. For the last two days I had been chastising myself for this, wallowing in self-pity, scolding my foolish, impulsive fancies.

Enough of that now! I would face him like a man, and ask for forgiveness. And if he would not grant me that, I would say goodbye and depart with dignity.

There mere thought of Haddock breaking up with me for good made me want to crawl back into my bed and cry.

„Great snakes", I cursed loudly, causing Snowy to look up from his lunch in surprise. „I can do this. I will do this."

„Woof?" Snowy asked confusedly.

I caressed his wooly white fur. „You wait here, partner. Maybe I'll be right back."

.

.

.

Surely two days had been sufficient time for Captain Haddock, too, to make up his mind about me. I felt scared standing in front of the imposing wooden doors of Marlinspike Hall, ringing the bell. My stomach churned with anticipation and shame.

Nestor opened the door, and I believed to detect just the faintest trace of contempt beneath his professional pokerface. He did not offer me to enter. „You wish, Mr Tintin?"

„To see the Captain."

„Hm." Nestor looked at me from top to bottom as though he had never seen me before. „I am not sure if the master is in any mood to receive you."

„Nestor, please. I must talk to him. Did he give you specific instructions not to let me in?"

A short pause. „Actually, no. He did not."

„Then let me in, please. It is important."

Nestor's expression did not change. He probably knew the entire story just as well as we both did. With a barely audible sigh he opened the door wide, and motioned me to step inside the villa.

„Is he home at all?" I asked. „Where is he?"

„In the library", Nestor said icily, but I was already running upstairs, not even bothering to take off my trench coat. „Captain", I shouted, knocking heavily at the library doors, „Are you there? It's me, Tintin!"

No response.

Great snakes! What if he had started drinking again?

I knocked once more. „Captain?"

Finally I heard a low „Yes?". My heart was beating loudly as I opened the door, finally facing him again.

My love.

He sat in an armchair with a book, wearing his dressing gown and a woolen blanket around his shoulders. His hair was uncombed as though he had just gotten out of bed.

A half-full bottle of Loch Lomond stood on the floor next to the armchair. To my dismay there were several more bottles, both full and empty, on the heavy mahogany desk near him, along with an empty whisky tumbler, disorganized stacks of paper and books, and amidst the chaos the Siamese cat was sleeping peacefully. The room reeked of alcohol.

For a moment I had no idea what to say for fear it could be wrong, although I had chosen my words so carefully.

But when Haddock finally spoke he sounded sober. „Good you're here, Tintin."

I opened my mouth to say something but he cut me off. „Now, I'd like to hear why."

„Why...?" I echoed.

„Why did you do it? Be honest with me now, Tintin. I want to know everything. And I mean everything. What did you do with that wannabe-dictator, good-for-nothing scum? When did he have you, and how often?"

I wondered. Did it truly matter? Maybe Haddock needed to know more in order to deal with it; to understand. But how could he hope to understand when not even I myself was sure why I had done it?

„Well, I..." I found another chair, pulled it close to him and sat down, glad to have a chance to talk, to apologize. I had to make sure that nothing I said sounded like an attempt to justify my betrayal. „What I did... I kissed Alcazar once. Just when we had escaped from Tapioca's agents. And later when I went back to him to get my notebook we had sex."

„So, so." Haddock was looking toward the window, admiring the sunlight's reflection in the deep green Loch Lomond bottles on the desk. „You had sex with him only once?"

„Just once."

„And whose idea was it?"

„Um..." I looked at my hands, fidgeting awkwardly. „I don't know. It all happened so fast. We just... just seized the opportunity. Heat of the moment. Adrenaline rush." _Crumbs!_ That sounded like an excuse.

„So it wasn't because you thought you were missing something?" Haddock's gaze met mine. „Be honest with me. What does he have that I don't?"

I was surprised how bitter his voice sounded.

„Tell me", he demanded gruffly. „He's younger and better looking, that much is sure. Does he last longer, too?"

„No!" I gripped the edge of my chair. „That-"

„Does he give it to you better?"

„Cap-"

„Does his macho attitude turn you on? Did you want to be treated like a whore for a change? Tell me, Tintin!"

I realized I had been grasping the chair so firmly that my knuckles were white. When I finally responded I had to force myself to stay calm, to look at him. „No, it was not like that."

_You're lying_, a small part of me said. _You _did_ want it rough, just once._

„Did you like it?" Haddock grabbed the whisky bottle. Immediately I felt tempted to take it from him, as I had often done in the past.

I had to be honest now! There was a pause.

At last I said, „Yes. I liked it. But afterward I felt awful and miserable."

Haddock took a swig from the bottle and placed it back on the desk with a determined _clank_. Then he nodded in acknowledgment.

No one spoke.

I gathered all my courage and leaned forward. „Captain, what I did was absolutely wrong, and I'm sorry-"

He interrupted me again. „You, Tintin... You, of all people." It sounded even more bitter. „You are – no, you _were_ – the most decent, honest and upright person I ever knew in my entire life. I wouldn't have imagined, not in my wildest dreams,_ ever_, that you are capable of being unfaithful. I've tried to understand it - it caused me quite a headache for two days - but I can't. I still can't believe it, much less understand."

Indeed: there was an abyss in my soul I had not known before. Maybe we all had it in us, whether we wanted or not. Perhaps everyone was capable of dishonesty and worse.

He shook his head, mumbling something about responsibility and disappointment, slurred words barely understandable, and took another swig of whisky.

„Archie", I said, moving even closer to him. „I'm truly sorry. Please, would you forgive me?"

My fingers itched to snatch the bottle away from him, to take his hand into mine, but I suppressed the old impulse. If he'd pull his hand away now it would hurt more than any word he could say.

„Forgive me, Captain", I said. „I will... I will make sure such a thing never happens again..." I searched for words, starting to sound more pleading than intended, „I will accept the fact that I'm capable of cheating and I will train my awareness of situations where it might happen and avoid them... I won't meet Alcazar again, ever."

He would do it. He would reject me. Growing desperate, I put my hand on his knee. „You can ask me all sorts of questions about anything, anytime, and I shall answer truthfully. I want you back, Captain. I want to earn your trust back."

Had he understood me? Had he listened at all?

Once more I watched him put the bottle to his lips and drink. Then he sighed. "Thundering typhoons…! I don't know. I need some time. Please leave me alone."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Of course he could not forgive me so easily so his answer had been unspecific. I clung to the shred of hope that reconciliation would be only a matter of time.

I sat in the armchair in my old apartment, sipping a mug of hot cocoa although I had no appetite. Caressing Snowy, I contemplated my future with Haddock – I wanted it, no matter how difficult it might be to regain his trust – and realized that perhaps I should eat something. A heavy lump in my throat and stomach had replaced my appetite.

Just when I was about to open a can of _soupe de poisson bretonne_ the doorbell rang. My first thought was 'Captain!' – then, with some horror I realized it might be Alcazar. But he did not know this address, did he?

I opened the door, and saw two deliverymen standing in front of me, one of them carrying a large wooden box which he put on the floor. "Mr Tintin?" the other asked, holding a scrap of paper under my nose. "The calculating machine you ordered. Please sign here."

There was something eeriely familiar about this situation but I couldn't put a finger on it. All I knew that was I had not ordered anything and instinct told me escape right away, but then I felt the wet cloth pressed over my face, and with a surprised gasp inhaled the sharp, narcotic odor of chloroform.

.

.

.

The last thing I remembered was how everything had suddenly gone patchy, then black in front of my eyes.

_Crumbs!_

Hadn't this happened to me before? I opened my eyes slowly, adjusting to the semidarkness of the room around me. My head was dizzy and hurt, my vision impeded by blurriness.

"_¡__Está despierto!",_ a voice shouted.

Alarmed, I tried to get up but even when my weakened body obeyed it was held down: my hands were tied firmly to a metal pipe on the cold floor where I sat. I blinked, examining my surroundings.

It seemed to be a cellar or basement, illuminated only by a bare lightbulb hanging from the cracked, mildewy ceiling. The air was cold and damp, and again I tried pulling at the ropes – in vain. They were bound expertly tight.

Three men stepped in front of me, observing me with great interest. Whispering something to each other, so low I could not make out the words, they assumed intimidatingly triumphant poses. They were dressed in dark suits and two of them even wore sunglasses. If the situation were not so serious I would have laughed at how closely they resembled cliché secret agents from a movie.

"Back among the living, Mr Tintin?" one of the men asked, keeping his bulky arms crossed over his wide chest. He had a distinct Latin American accent.

"What the...?" I managed to croak. My mouth felt parched, and the dizzying effect of the narcotic still had me in its grip. "Who are you?"

I could already guess the answer. These were General Tapioca's hirelings whose hail of bullets I had barely escaped one week earlier.

"You ain't the one asking questions here", one of them said, crouching down in front of me so he could look me straight into the eyes. "Now, we don't care about you, Mr Tintin. All we want is the traitor, Alcazar."

"And if you cooperate", another chimed in, "we won't harm you."

I shook my head. "I can't help you, _señores._ Alcazar is on the run as we speak. Why would I know where he's going?"

The agent removed his sunglasses, scrutinizing me closely with a stern look from dark eyes. "You met with him last week. You talked to him as a reporter!"

"That's correct. But why would he tell me what he's planning, or where he's going to go? That would defeat the whole point of his escape!"

"Perhaps because he needs your help! Doesn't he? You are his trusted ally!"

I bit my lip. It was generally known, at least since General Tapioca had provoked us in public, that I and Captain Haddock were – had been? – longtime friends of ex-General Alcazar.

"Told you. I know nothing", I said defiantly.

Another of the agents crouched down in front of me, sighing. "Now listen, kiddo", he said with the calm voice of someone who is used to giving orders, "here's what's gonna happen. You tell us where the traitor is, and we get him, and deliver him to General Tapioca. Then you're free. And if you don't cooperate, we'll make you talk. We have methods to make people talk. Very efficient methods."

I maintained my composure. "I told you, I don't know where he is."

The two agents looked at each other. Three more were standing in the background so that even if I'd been free to move I would have been hopelessly outnumbered.

"_Es un periodista. Probablemente tiene alguna información en un cuaderno... ¡Vamos a buscar!" _

My Spanish was fluent enough to understand what they were talking about. 'He's a reporter. Most likely he has information in a notebook with him. Let's search him!'

One guy reached into my coat pockets, searching, until he found my notebook, exclaiming _A-ha!_ and throwing it to his partner. But they were not finished yet, and proceeded to tug down my coat along my arms, cutting it off at the sleeves to remove it. I made a mental note to make those scoundrels pay for destroying my clothes as soon as the opportunity would present itself.

They rummaged further through my coat but found nothing that piqued their interest.

The agent began to frisk me, rough hands roaming across my chest, waist and thighs, and I winced uncomfortably.

"You're living with Captain Haddock, aren't you, Mr Tintin?" The man's voice was devoid of emotion.

It had to be a rhetorical question, regarding the fact that my living arrangement with Haddock was an open secret.

"There are rumours about you and the old sea lion." Now the gangster had stopped frisking me and his face was creepily close to mine. "They say you're a couple. Quite scandalous, isn't it?"

"You can't blackmail me with that", I replied, keeping my expression stoic. "I don't know how you handle it in South America, but this is a country where homosexual relationships hardly damage anyone's reputation."

The guy seemed determined to beat me in a staring contest.

Finally he said, "I think I'm detecting an attitude in that pretty little head of yours." Then he turned to his companions. "_Vamos a comenzar el interrogatorio._"

'Let's start with the questioning.'

He stood up, rolling up his sleeves. Five guys encircled me. One inhaled his cigarette for a last time and then dropped it, crushing it beneath his elegant black leather shoe.

The first kick hit my stomach, and made me gasp and double over in pain.

Weakly I pulled at the ropes that tied my hands to the pipe behind me, more out of habit than actual hope.

I had barely regained my wits when the next kick came, twice as hard, to my side, making me cry out.

I had taken many hits in my life, but rarely had they been so well-directed and purposeful.

The sort of violence I knew was usually a rather clumsy last resource of villains in distress, and easy to block off. This, however, was different. I was defenseless, outnumbered and they would reduce my bones to rubble in no time.

"_Merde_", I groaned, gasping from the excruciating pain. "I don't... know any... anything. I can't help you."

One of the men swung his leg back to deliver another kick, but another held him back. „_¡Espera!_"

He faced me, kneeling down in front of me. "Listen, Mr Tintin. Last time our observers saw Alcazar he left Marlinspike Hall, shortly before you did. But you did not follow him this time, and then we lost his track."

"What do you want to tell me?"

"That whatever you know Captain Haddock probably knows, too."

At yet another mention of Haddock I could not keep my calm. "Don't you dare", I hissed at him. "Don't drag the Captain into this! He knows absolutely nothing!"

"We shall put that to the test. We'll send him pictures of you being... _questioned_, and tell him we'll release you in exchange for General Alcazar, or any information that leads us directly to his capture."

"You won't get away with that! The police will find you immediately if you try to pull that sort of stunt!"

"Oh, really? With _you_, his precious little rosebud, at our complete mercy? He'd be very stupid to involve the police." The thug lit another cigarette, blowing smoke into my face, and I coughed.

He pressed the glowing end of the cigarette into my cheek.

If they had wanted to make me scream they had now succeeded. Crying out with pain and pulling my head away instinctively I began to understand what they had meant by 'efficient methods'.

Although he'd already taken the cigarette away – at least that was what I could still see – it felt like a hole was being burned into my cheek, and my entire face seemed to pulsate with searing pain.

I heard their laughter, their comments. Finally they left me alone.

.

.

.

How many hours had passed?

I was not even able to tell whether it was day or night. "Hello?" I shouted, seeing no one around me. Getting increasingly desperate because I had to use the toilet I hoped they would grant me at least that. There were many ways to humiliate someone, but surely _that_ way was not an effective means of obtaining information.

Finally, someone arrived.

The three men walking toward me did indeed allow me to use a toilet, even untying my hands so I could go about my business like a dignified human being; but both watched intently and one kept a gun pointed at me, finger on the trigger, the entire time.

Afterward they tied my hands together in front of me, again making professionally tight knots. Out of the blue, I wondered where Snowy was. Obviously he had not managed to follow me this time.

What plans did they have for me next?

They led me through a dark corridor into another room, and yet I found no visual clues as to where I was. What wouldn't I have given for a glance through a window! But here were none. Most likely this place was an old basement, perhaps in one of the ancient factory buildings in the outskirts of the city, abandoned after the end of World War Two.

This room had a nineteenth-century-style oven. Various tools were strewn about the floor, others were neatly arranged on the walls and on shelves. There were a table and chairs in the middle of the room.

The agents ordered me to kneel on the ground. Again they surrounded me.

One of them stepped forward, smirking down at me. "Hello, pretty boy. My name is Manuel Riojas. I'm in charge of this operation."

The name rang a bell. Wasn't he the boss of the largest San Theodosian drug cartel, long wanted by the police when Alcazar had been president? And now he worked for Tapioca?

"The drug lord, hm?" I said, attempting to conceal my growing queasiness. It was degrading having to kneel before them, reaching them just at crotch height, but they would not let me get up: one man pointed a gun at me, its shiny barrel touching the side of my head. "So what now, Manuel? I already told you I have no idea where he is."

"But maybe your lover does." Manuel grinned. "He'll do _anything_ when he sees the photos. ...Pedro?"

"Here!" A short, chubby agent held a camera in his hand, presenting it to his boss.

"I will start", he instructed the others in his accent-tinged English. "You hold his head and shoulders. Pedro, make sure you capture different angles."

They were chuckling, fidgeting nervously. Only their boss seemed absolutely ready; his lecherous grin staying plastered on his face as he ogled me.

My uneasiness turned to fear.


	8. Chapter 8

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Poor Tintin is really suffering now o_o; Drama. Everywhere. I hadn't planned to pile on the agony like this, actually.

Warning for non-con (sort of) and more nasty violence. Just for the record, no one deserves such things, ever.

But it will have a happy end, no worries.

Chapter 8

The agents' hands grabbed my shoulders, pressing down, keeping me firmly in place.

Manuel Riojas, the gangster boss, stepped closer so that the front lapel of his elegant black designer trousers was only mere centimeters away from my face.

What happened then was not so much torture but rather a purposeful, nasty humiliation of the least expected sort.

Staring at Manuel's erection growing to full size as he stroked it right in front of my nose, my first thought was that this made him vulnerable. But could I do it? Could I bite down when- ?

However, he apparently had no intentions of forcing himself anywhere inside me, content with slapping his cock against my cheek a few times, pleased at my disgusted expression.

The other men held my head so whatever struggle I managed to muster up against this obscene treatment was quickly stopped.

The first camera flash illuminated the scene, followed by the clicking sound of a shutter.

I closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than to scream and protest angrily, but knew it was smarter to keep my mouth tightly closed.

„C'mon, we know you like it, princess", a rough voice said. Another man laughed.

Blinking, I caught a glance of Manuel's hand around his erection. Again he brushed it over my cheek, and I flinched. It was heavy and warm, its moist head smearing pre-cum over my face.

Swallowing the feeling of nausea I tried to brace myself for what was about to happen.

The following seconds felt like hours. I kept my eyes and mouth tightly closed, hearing only their low chuckles, occasional comments, and Manuel's heavy breathing accompanied by the wet, slapping sounds as he stroked himself hard. I could even smell him, faintly musky and salty, and sensed another wave of nausea.

A deep groan was followed by several camera flashes and shutter sounds as the first spurt of semen landed across my nose, dripping down to my mouth.

Since my hands were still bound, I could not wipe it away so I just shuddered with disgust as far as their tight grip on my head and shoulders would permit.

Manuel's second shot hit my cheek.

More camera flashes followed, discernible even through my closed eyelids.

Someone laughed. „Open your mouth", another said but it was barely audible amidst the increasing number of other comments in Spanish.

The hands holding my head felt damp with sweat, almost as repulsive as the thick, strong-smelling cum slowly oozing down my neck and chin.

They had their photos now. Were they finally done?

I opened my eyes, still queasy with fear and disgust, and saw the boss stuffing his still-hard cock back into his pants.

The guy with the camera took another picture; and this time I made the mistake of looking directly at him. He captured my incredulously staring, angry, cum-covered expression with one smug _click._

.

.

.

Parts of the sticky ejaculate were already half-dry and starting to flake off my skin before one of the thugs finally wiped my face with a paper handkerchief, grinning the entire time.

They had tied me to a pipe in the same room, and left me there. Surely they had a darkroom somewhere in this dungeon of theirs to develop the photographs. What they planned was clear. They were going to send the pictures to Captain Haddock, demanding information about Alcazar's whereabouts, threatening to abuse me in worse ways if he did not cooperate.

.

.

.

Sleeping was difficult in this position. I felt dirty and exhausted, my limbs were aching, and I had no idea what time it was; not even whether it was already evening. But whatever little sleep I managed to catch was a welcome temporary escape from this nightmare.

.

.

.

I didn't know how many hours had passed when a younger man, barely an adult, arrived. He was armed with a machine gun, and gave me water to drink from a plastic bottle. I drank as much as possible, for who knew when they would let me have more? Then I watched him walk away.

But there was always someone near me, guarding me silently, rarely taking his eyes off me.

I had tried to free myself a couple of times, but the ropes were cutting my wrists, rubbing them raw and sore. And even if I managed to untie myself, would I really find a way out of here?

_Snowy, where are you? Can you find me?_

_Captain, I'm so sorry. Captain, please forgive me. _

.

.

.

I was examining the room, scanning every corner and brick with my gaze when the boss, Manuel, approached me.

„The photos turned out well", he said smugly. „It looks good on a _maricón_ like you, the little facial." He crouched down to meet me at eye level. „We're sending the photos to Marlinspike Hall, telling your gigolo-"

„His name is Captain Haddock!" As long as I could at least pretend to have some dignity left, I would do so.

„Haddock, all right." Manuel smiled, the expression of someone who knew he had already won the game anyway. „We tell him where to deposit the information we want. And if he doesn't act, he knows he'll get you back. Piece by piece."

He flashed a wide grin.

_Piece by piece._

.

.

.

I had severely underestimated General Tapioca's mercenaries.

These gangsters were experts at their job. Until a response from Haddock arrived, they had said, they would keep trying to force the information from me. „Use the occasion, boy. Let's get it over with quickly, why don't you?"

„I know nothing!" I shouted, pulling the ropes with my hurting wrists, growing increasingly desperate.

A glance at the tool which one of the men carefully took from the oven gave me a terrible suspicion of what was to come.

It was a thin iron rod with a square-shaped symbol, glowing red and hot, forged onto its end.

The sort of tool that they used in Texas to mark their cattle.

A branding iron.

.

.

.

At some point – I did not remember when - they had untied me. It had been no longer necessary to keep me in check after I had passed out from the excruciating pain. Like the smouldering cigarette but much larger, hotness and intensity multiplied hundredfold, the branding iron had left its mark on the inside of my thigh.

And I had screamed and shrieked, pulling with desperate, previously unknown force at the many hands holding me when they'd pushed the glowing iron onto my skin. Sweaty, ungentle hands all over my body, keeping me still on the table, forcing my thighs open.

For several minutes I had wanted to die.

Burnt flesh has an unbearably aromatic and at the same time sickeningly sweetish smell. I knew it now.

„I... don't know", I muttered between sobs, curled up on the dirty floor in nothing but my underwear. They were long finished. I had no idea how many hours had passed since I had awoken from unconsciousness. Gasping with pain – the burning did not stop,_ oh dear Lord will it ever stop_, I tried to focus on blurry thoughts of salvation. _Why is Snowy not coming to save me, why..._

I had not told them anything. Of course, what could I have said? Surely they now had finally realized that I did not have the information they wanted.

Oh God, the pain.

My mouth was parched, my pulse throbbing in my head, but those were minor aches compared to the searing pain spreading out from the burn wound in my thigh.

The smell, I was getting used to. The pain, no.

Black and gray patches obscured my vision, getting fuzzier and darker by the second.

I passed out again.

.

.

.

They had locked me inside a sort of prison cell. A tiny, windowless room tiled with filthy, cracked ceramic panels, illuminated by a small lamp in the corner. A smelly mattress had been put on the floor for me to sleep on.

It had been about three nights now, if my estimation was correct. All the time I felt strangely lethargic and my mind was dull as never before. They had probably slipped sedatives or a similar drug into my food.

The mark on my skin was burning, aching, reminding me of the torture every second I was awake.

My kidnappers seemed to grow impatient. What was Captain Haddock doing? Had he seen the pictures? They had not tortured me again so far, nor abused me in other ways. Only once the boss had used me again out of frustration and boredom, rubbing and grinding himself against me, finishing with a shot of cum onto my stomach. I had been only semi-conscious, unable to offer resistance.

_Captain, where are you?_

_Please forgive me._

Snowy must have given up on me, unable to find me. Maybe Captain Haddock had given up, too.

.

.

.

It was the boss, Manuel Riojas, and another thug who woke me from my dreamless semi-sleep. The other man was holding a dagger in his hand, its blade sparkling faintly in the dim, artificial light.

„What?" I croaked. My body's reaction speed, if one could call it that, matched that of my mind: slow and tired, probably caused by whatever they drugged me with.

„... has not cooperated", Manuel finished his sentence. I saw his face in front of me, blurry at first, then sharper. He must have noticed I had barely understood him, for he repeated the sentence. „Your Captain has not cooperated. You know what that means."

„What... that means?" I echoed dully.

_Captain... not cooperated..._

Manuel grinned, flashing a row of impeccably white teeth in his gangster mug. „Piece by piece", he said deliberately slowly. The other man smiled as well, waving the shiny blade demonstratively in front of my eyes. „We'll start with your ear."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

_We'll start with your ear._

The words had barely sunk in when I heard a loud racket from outside my prison cell. Shouting and yelling voices reached my ears through the drug-induced haziness that veiled my mind.

Manuel jumped up. _„¿Qué coño es ese ruido?" _He and the other thug looked at each other, alarmed.

My head was heavy like a rock, and it took me a conscious effort to lift it to the direction of the door in an attempt to see what was going on.

There were more screams.

„_¡__Mierda!"_ Manuel shouted, drawing his gun and running out of the room. His accomplice looked around, panicking, then shot me one last, angry look before he hurried away as well.

Only now did the realization enter my mind that something was happening here, possibly something good... possibly salvation...

„Rescue", I mouthed.

_Rescue._

_Snowy._

_Captain._

The pain throbbed underneath my seared skin, still intense enough to make me squirm in agony with each movement. I tried to crawl toward the door but stopped, holding my thigh while curling up on the floor next to the mattress.

Colorful shapes danced in front of my eyes, then everything faded into welcoming, all-encompassing blackness.

.

.

.

The memories of my last three – or had it been four? Two? Ten? - days were dark, grimy, cold, gritty and fragmentary.

It took me some time to adjust to my new surroundings. I had awoken to the tender sensation of dry, soap-scented, clean and soft fabric underneath and atop me. Warm rays of sunlight, filtered through white net curtains, caressed my face. But the most notable feeling -

„Tintin?" a familiar voice said.

- was on my hands. My right hand was enveloped in something warm-

_Captain!_

Haddock moved closer, his face almost touching mine. I realized I was in a bed, in a room I did not know, and Captain Haddock was here, holding my hand.

I tried to speak. „Captain..." My mouth was dry.

Now I recognized what was happening to my left hand. It had been hooked up to an IV, a bottle from which clear liquid dripped through a tube directly into the back of my hand, and I could feel the cold fluid crawl under my skin.

„Hush, don't talk now, _mon amour_", Haddock said, squeezing my hand. „You've been through too much, but now you're safe."

„What... where...?" The memories returned, and I wanted to prop myself up on my elbows so I could take a better look at what was clearly a hospital room - white, sunlit and sterile.

„Those fancy-dress fascists, those villainous ostrogoths..." he muttered, then inhaled deeply. „They kidnapped you. Tapioca's thugs, I mean... and they tried to blackmail me, sending pictures and threats. The police managed to track you down, thanks to Snowy's help..." He told me how Snowy had found the lion's den – the cellar of an abandoned factory building – and the police had scouted the area, examined the building and sent a Special Weapons and Tactics team, a risky move to do before one knew exactly what kind of enemy they were dealing with. But Manuel's men, although well armed, had been taken by surprise. The boss himself and three of his accomplices had been arrested and would face charges for kidnapping, sexual molestation, and dangerous bodily injuries.

I nodded dumbly, still too dazed to ask questions, not quite realizing what this meant: My torturer arrested?

It became clear I would have to face him in court some day and testify against him. The mere thought made my innards squirm and I let out a heavy sigh. Of course I could not let crime go unpunished and would do anything in my power to see a bad guy locked up, a habit that had somehow formed since my early days as a reporter in Chicago. And yet... the burn on the inside of my thigh had been expertly bandaged but still hurt, and I knew it'd remind me of their torture forever. If I only could get this over with! If only I could get them out of my mind!

„You need to rest now", Haddock said, gently pushing me back down onto the bed. „Those slavetrading savages did nasty things to you, but you will be well. Sleep now, lad."

He moved to get up, ready to leave.

„Captain?" I asked confusedly, close to panic._ Stay with me! Please don't go!_ „Please-!" I clasped his hand tighter.

He smiled. „I have to go. Doctor's orders... Forgive me, my boy. Don't worry, we'll talk later." He pressed a kiss to my lips, short but warm and firm. „I love you."

.

.

.

As he had promised we indeed did talk later.

Today I was supposed to leave the hospital. They had treated me for dehydration, bruises, and third degree burns on my thigh. Fortunately there had been no septic shock from the burn wound. But the mark would probably stay on my skin forever, scarring over time.

„Blistering barnacles! The devil shall fetch them, those nightmare beasts! Bath-tub admirals! Ectoplasmic terrorists!" Captain Haddock had shouted when he had seen the burn mark.

Indeed: it was not nice to look at.

I still flinched when something touched it, and wearing pants of any sort while moving around and walking contributed to an almost torturous sensation. „It might actually hurt more as it heals", the doctor had said, „but that's a good sign. It means the nerve cells are regenerating."

I sat on the hospital bed, having finished showering and dressing, and Haddock sat on a chair next to me. „You have no idea, lad", he said. „Absolutely no idea how scared I was. So worried about you..." He shook his head, as though still unable to believe what had happened.

„I thought about you all the time", I said truthfully, touching his hand. He had said 'I love you' earlier, had he not? Did he mean he wanted me back, was ready to give me another chance?

„Tintin, my boy." He looked at me with intense seriousness. „I've been thinking... well, if you can call it thinking clearly, with all that worry to distract me... and..."

_Please, say it! Say you want me back!_

„... and I can't bear to lose you. I love you so much, and what we have here... this... it means everything to me. I want to forgive you."

I realized I had been holding his hand in a vice-like grip.

There were words on my mind, many coherent and thoughtful sentences, but they all fell apart into a great mess, and I did not manage to utter a single one. My eyes filled with tears.

„But you need to be honest with me, Tintin", he continued. „In everything, even in seemingly insignificant matters. It's important for me right now... to understand."

I nodded, hastily wiping my nose. _Anything you want_, I wanted to say, but too many emotions were overwhelming me. If I tried to speak now, only a sob would emerge.

Clutching his blue sleeve I made an attempt anyway. „You... you can..." I began, _you can ask me anything, I'll be honest..._ Before I could form a consistent sentence I buried my face in his pullover, sobbing and bawling.

It was simply too much right now; too many emotions at once to handle.

„Tintin, lad?" He hugged me a little awkwardly as though I was a fragile porcelain doll. „Sshht, it's all right. You're safe. And whatever's on your mind, I can handle it. Don't worry. You're forgiven no matter what."

.

.

.

Walking was difficult but I managed to make it to the hospital cafeteria with relatively little pain. We sat in a quiet corner where other people were unlikely to overhear us, and I finally found the courage to talk.

„You were missing something, weren't you?" Haddock had asked. „Something that Alcazar" - he still pronounced the name with disgust - „was more than happy to give you. Was it like that, Tintin?"

I forced myself to look at him. „Yes."

„You wanted to be treated differently for once? Like a whore?"

I pressed my lips tightly together, feeling my face redden with shame. „It's because you say it like that", I blurted out. „You say it like it's... it's abnormal! And yes! I wanted it, Captain! I wanted it so badly!"

Abruptly I stopped, having spoken a bit louder than intended. „You were uncomfortable with it", I continued, lowering my voice. „I could tell. So... I decided I'd never bring it up again."

Twice he opened his mouth to say something but only after a few seconds he found the words. „Wait... you mean... did you think I was _judging_ you?"

_That's how it felt, exactly._ I looked at him in silent acknowledgment, my cheeks still hot and flushed.

He let out an incredulous laugh that stopped as quickly as it had started. „But... Tintin! I'm not!" He put his hand on top of mine, a warm and comforting gesture. „I've never judged you! Blistering barnacles, if anyone deserves judgment, it's an incurable old drunk like me! Anyway, I was just... well, surprised, you know? You always surprise me with your ideas, lad!"

I managed a relieved grin despite still feeling ashamed.

He grinned back, an ambiguos sparkle in his eyes. „Now that I know what's on your mind..."

My blush deepened as the images moved over the cinema screen of my mind. I paused, taking a sip from my coffee cup.

„I also wanted to say..." I began shyly, „that I would never have gone actively searching for sex with others. It didn't even occur to me. It just happened because he..." - I avoided Alcazar's name deliberately - „...somehow he sensed exactly what I wanted in a specific moment... and then I was weak, I could not resist. I wanted it."

„I know." Haddock caressed my hand, looking down onto the table.

However ready and willing he was to talk about it I sensed he was still hurt. Perhaps somewhere deep down inside his mind he blamed himself. „Captain, I want you to know it was my mistake, and mine alone, nevermind how and why it happened. I'm the only one to blame."

He took a sip from his whisky-infused coffee, and grunted in acknowledgment.

.

.

.

In retrospect I knew that my brief affair had not been worth it in the least. If I had thought it would fulfill a secret desire, why had I felt so empty afterward – not to mention guilty and miserable?

And Alcazar – whereever he was now only Heaven knew – was not someone I could imagine as a lover. The memory of how he had ignored my protests still made me feel uncomfortable. How easy it was to forget a certain foundation called Respect! I had also done so. I had disregarded and disrespected the most important person in my life for the sake of a meaningless roller-coaster ride.

It would never happen again, and I would make sure of that.


	10. Sequel

I could not resist, I just had to write a sequel! :D

In which Tintin and Haddock go at it and have delicious, desperate, sweet, hot, hard reunion sex. And I really don't regret writing it in first person at all... it makes me feel so naughty! XD

**One month later**

The burn mark on the inside of my thigh was healing slowly but well. Wearing pants no longer tested the limits of my uncomfortableness tolerance and I was soon donning my usual plus fours, no longer limping or awkwardly shifting around.

But nothing could beat being back together with Captain Haddock.

We had not shared a bed since I had been rescued thanks to my usual incredible good luck. He was still concerned, he had said, that he might hurt me while the scar was not fully healed yet. „Let's wait a month", had been his words a week after my release from the hospital.

He was not saying it, of course, but a part of me sensed he might somehow think I was sullied, or worse, broken. He'd seen the photos; the awful, humiliating images of my semen-covered face. He'd seen the burn mark several times, touching it ever so lightly while muttering under his breath what he'd do to those „goddamned sons of dimwitted mutant monster gnomes" once he'd lay his hands on them.

„Scars remind us where we have been", my doctor had said, „but they don't have to dictate where we are going."

I would prove it to Haddock – I was not „broken" in any sense of the word, and it would be easy to show him since I wanted him as badly as ever, perhaps even more so than before. I wanted to be sure to have him back, and to rediscover all the things I loved about sleeping with him. I missed being enveloped in his strong arms that could lift me effortlessly into any position he wanted to access me from; the wiry dark hair through which I loved to run my fingers on his chest and belly; and his hard, ready cock, feeling warm and heavy against my body, so big in its full-sized state that my hand barely managed to enclose it yet it fit inside me perfectly _just so_, tight but not too much so, and always deep enough to hit that certain sweet spot.

_Mon Dieu._ The mere fantasy sent warm, tingling shivers through my lower belly.

I interrupted my work – a typewriter report about inhumane working conditions in South Asian clothing factories – and leaned back in my chair, exhaling deeply.

I'd do it. I'd show Captain Haddock how much I wanted him. A small voice in the back of my head murmured he might reject me, he was not fully trusting me yet, he wasn't ready yet – but my desire was so strong I simply had to give it a try.

Silently checking every single corner of Marlinspike Hall I finally found Haddock at the small kitchen table. He sat on a chair wearing his wine-red patterned dressing gown, dividing his attention between a half-full whisky tumbler and a book about Arctic expeditions. When he saw me he closed the book. „How's work going, _mon cher?_"

„Not good."

He looked at me questioningly.

„I can't work when I'm so distracted thinking about you."

He seemed confused for a moment, then raising an eyebrow and smiling widely. „Ah, so?... Tintin, thundering typhoons-!"

He knew me well enough to decode that expression in my face which I never managed to hide; the gleam in my eyes when I could not resist something I wanted. Right now I was looking at him with unbridled appetite.

No further words were necessary. I climbed onto his lap, enclosing his head in my hands and pulled him toward me into a searing kiss, firm and ardent. He tasted of whisky, and it was comfortingly familiar. I licked and sucked his lips, eager for more of the wet and warm sensation, revving up my own engine – and his – for more to come.

It took no longer than a few moments until his arms were around me, holding me tightly, and I moaned into the kiss, my skin almost shivering when his teasing fingers brushed over it.

We pulled apart, noses still close enough to touch, and he carressed my flushed face. „Are you... are you sure?"

„Yes, Captain. Yes! _Please!_" My body almost reacted out of its own accord, pressing closer to Haddock, my erection poking his stomach. Awkwardly I climbed from his thighs, kneeling down onto the floor in front of the chair where he sat, and bent over his lap.

I wanted him – no, _needed_ him! - right now, and he must have noticed it for he spread his thighs a little so I had easier access. Clutching the dressing gown I buried my face in his groin, rubbing it against his growing erection through the fabric, inhaling his musky, heady scent and breathing more heavily as lust made me lose my mind, until he was fully hard.

His hand was lightly carressing the back of my head, and his low groans were encouraging, making me even hungrier for more. I wanted to give him all the pleasure I could, and at the same time was unable to wait any longer to finally, _finally_, feel and taste him.

His hardness was tenting out the robe, testing the limits of the soft fabric; and after some more rubbing of my face against it I opened his dressing gown with shaking fingers, liberating the impressive sight.

„Oh, Tintin", he whispered, „you don't have to-"

My mouth enclosing his aroused cock quickly cut off whatever weak objections he might have had; and I used my tongue liberally, feeling him twitch in my mouth, and his hand tensing on my head.

His breathing became more laboured as I sucked him, alternating between slow and fast movements of my tongue. My hand firmly around the base of his shaft – I could not take in his whole length anyway – I supported myself with my other arm on his lap, moving my head up and down along his length as I worked him. My own erection was already aching, uncomfortably straining my pants.

He was pulsating inside my mouth, hard and hot, and I knew I needed to stop soon so he'd be still ready for me. My jaw was starting to hurt from keeping my mouth open so widely to accommodate his size, yet I was tempted to continue, wondering how it would be if his cum filled me, faster than I could swallow it – a simple and yet so powerful act, taking in the very essence, the seed of life of someone else. It could hardly get more intimate than that.

Raising my head up at him, my hungry gaze met his, and we looked at each other – or rather, he stared at my mouth as I was lightly sucking the head of his cock, glistening moist with pre-cum and saliva.

I brushed my wet lips over the leaking red head, feeling a drop of clear fluid ooze down my chin, and flicked my tongue against the tiny frenulum on the base of the glans, causing him to groan and twitch in response, his fingers clinging onto my hair more firmly.

_Now is the moment. _I had to stop now if I wanted more.

I quickly shuffled to my feet, my hands trembling almost too much to pull down my pants, which Haddock quickly noticed. He helped me, unbuttoning them with equally shaky hands, and stood up as well.

Another brief glance at each other's hot, reddened face.

Haddock must have read my mind. He grabbed my collar and pushed me facedown onto the table, pulling down my pants in the same instant. The thrill and anticipation made me moan, my body pushing back against his pelvis behind me, but his firm grip pressing me down onto the table would barely let me move.

For a moment he seemed undecided, then he leaned down over me, his entire body bending over mine, and his warm breath touching my ear. „Is this what you want, lad?" His voice was low and raspy.

„Yes", I uttered, voice mingling into a breathless sigh, „yes!"

Then the pressure was gone, and his hands roamed along my body all the way down to my buttocks and kneading them, gently at first, then squeezing roughly, finishing with a slap, and I flinched, breathing a surprised „_Oh!_"

„You want that, right?" The hoarseness of his voice, dripping with lust, sent waves of pleasure through my abdomen, and I desperately rubbed my erection against the cool wood of the kitchen table.

„_Yes_, please", I half shouted, half moaned, reaching behind me to spread my cheeks apart, signaling him to take me at last, to give me all of him, the ultimate union I had been craving for so long now.

He grabbed my hair roughly, again bending over me, his voice barely audible. „I'll give it to you better and harder than he can!"

„Yes, yes", I breathed impatiently, jutting out my behind in an attempt to finally get him inside me. His erection was already pressing against me, still slippery and moist, and I could not wait, _absolutely_ could not wait. Why was he waiting, teasing me like this, why...! Finally his hand was gone, holding on to my waist instead, and with his other hand he slowly guided himself inside me.

I held my breath. It always took a moment of getting used to the breach of being entered by him, no matter how gentle he was; and this time he seemed as eager as I, his fingers digging firmly into the flesh of my middle.

The initial painful stretch soon gave way to an almost overwhelming thrill as he slid all the way inside me, profound and forceful. Thus he remained for a few moments, leaning over me, and I heard his ragged breathing. Clearly I was _not_ the only one being so overtaken, pinned down onto the table by this larger and stronger man; but he, too, was being dominated by the powerful physical sensation.

I spread my legs a little, enticing him to thrust, and he lost no time in doing so. Grabbing my waist to keep me in place he started to push himself in- and outside me, quietly grunting and groaning. I bit my knuckles, an old habit from times when I had to stay quiet for fear of being heard, but soon I was inciting him openly, sighing and moaning. His fingers dug into my skin, firm and desperate, as he pounded relentlessly into me.

He went in so deep, so forcibly that he easily hit that one spot inside me which made me shiver with pleasure at every thrust. I closed my eyes, trembling, moaning louder, feeling the waves of intense, tingling delight spread through me; the buildup of tension, and I was getting closer... closer...

Haddock growled, gripping me so tightly it almost hurt; and I felt his body tense atop mine, sensed the familiar twitching as he came inside me.

_Damn!_ I wanted to rub myself, grind against the table, _god damn it_, I was so close! „Captain", I panted, squirming underneath his heavy, relaxing torso above me, „let me..."

„Wait, _mon amour_", he whispered quietly, staying in place, not withdrawing from me. With some surprise I noticed he was still hard. He quickly removed the already open dressing gown, and it fell to the floor with a rustle. „Turn 'round", he commanded breathlessly, pulling out. A few thick drops of his evidence of passion ran down the insides of my thighs.

I rolled onto my back, still trembling with unfulfilled need and want, and instantly reached out to touch myself, to finish what we had started. But Haddock grabbed my wrists; and pressing them down onto the table he bent over me between my spread thighs.

And he thrust his – _mon Dieu_, how was this possible! - still hard cock inside me. I was so wet and slippery from the previous ravishment that he went all the way in at once. There was an obscene, squishing sound as he entered me, causing even more of his cum to spill out.

I responded with an amazed moan, and wrapped my legs around his back.

His face was above me, close to mine, and we felt each other's hot breaths, quickly unifying in a hard, clumsy kiss. He started pounding again, and I moaned into his mouth – we were One, giving all, sharing all, taking all, deeply and fervently connected in all ways our bodies made it possible, as though to translate into carnal union the precious bond of our hearts and minds.

Everything smelled of sex, adding to the dizzying pleasure – fresh sweat, musk, the faint saltiness of semen – the pure, perfect scent of two passions complementing each other.

He was focusing intensely, concentrating solely on his efforts to drive me over the edge; his face flushed and moist with perspiration. With each of his thrusts the table shook and creaked; and I could not help but give in to the sweet sensation of being held down, dominated and taken, hard and fiercely. My own panting and moaning, the indecent, slapping sounds of wet skin on skin – soon it all faded into one overwhelming apex.

I cried out his name. Or at least I thought I did, for no sound emerged. I just arched my body toward him in one last spasm of ecstastic tension, my open mouth forming an O. Tiny colored stars danced behind my closed eyelids as exquisite release liberated me.

My mind went blank.

Slowly it all faded back into place; into sweaty, hot, messy, sticky reality. Tired and content I smiled at Haddock's face above me – he was still there, inside me, and clearly he'd just observed every second of my orgasm. He was smiling as well, breathing heavily, and caressed my face. My skin felt hypersensitive to his touch and I almost winced.

Finally he spoke. „I'm almost done, lad..."

I simply nodded. „Go... ahead", I managed to say despite being utterly exhausted.

He returned to his steady thrusting rhythm; and to my own surprise I found myself still extremely responsive. Soon I was whimpering and moaning wantonly once more, and my – now free – hands dug into his back, feeling bulky, tense muscles working under his hot, damp skin.

He pushed forward more which caused my legs to stick almost straight up into the air; and increased his speed, grunting and muttering inaudible curses, eyes closed and face contorted with effort. Just seconds later I saw and felt him reach climax, and instinctively pressed my heels into his buttocks, forcing him inside me as deeply as possible.

It took another couple of moments until he slid out of me at last, standing in front of the table and supporting himself with his hands on the wooden surface. He was close to being overtaken with exhaustion, but looked at me. „Tintin", he panted, „come here."

Still shaking a bit I slipped from the table so I half sat, half stood in front of him, on unsteady trembling legs. More spurts of his seed oozed down my thighs, dripping onto the floor. _There is so much!_ Of course – it had been _two_ full loads, and I marveled at the sheer volume, wondering how Haddock had managed to achieve this.

„Told you", he said with a smug grin.

I bit my lower lip and looked at him, suppressing an incredulous, yet impressed giggle. _Amazing!_

He let his fingertips trail over my neck and chest. „I love you, Tintin."

„And I love you, Captain", I uttered breathlessly, hugging him, feeling his heartbeat, enjoying the feeling of his warm, solid hairy body against mine. „I love you, I love you so much, I... I-!" I felt a sudden desire to pull him down onto me, to have him yet again, as though no amount of lovemaking could ever be enough to express how much I wanted him.

„Lean onto the table", he whispered.

I looked at him wide-eyed. Was he- did he- _could_ he possibly-?

He grinned. „Gotta clean you up."

I leant back a little as he bent over my stomach, holding my sides steady with his large, secure hands while licking all over my chest and around my belly button where I'd spilled most of my own semen. Too surprised to resist – he'd never done such a thing before! – I started to enjoy the new treatment, sighing softly when his wet tongue roamed over more sensitive areas; wincing a bit when he found ticklish spots. With some wonder, I felt myself become hard again. This was so naughty and so exquisite!

„Turn over", he said.

I hesitated. „Captain, do you-"

„C'mon, darling." He pushed me over so I was now bent facedown over the table, presenting my backside to him. Partly shocked, partly amazed – was he_ really_ going to do _this?_ - I was grateful he could not see me blush like a bashful maiden.

Rarely ever had he looked at my most intimate areas _that_ closely. He was kneeling before my rear end, and although I was not looking behind me I knew he was seeing it all, my abused backside, moist and slippery with his cum; my little hole stretched and sore, oozing even more – _mon Dieu!_ I was blushing, praying he wouldn't notice my sudden shyness at being so thoroughly inspected.

I heard his voice from behind me, raspy and low. „You're beautiful."

An embarrassed „mmh" was I all I managed in response. He spread my buttocks, pushing his face between them, and I gasped with incredulous amazement.

Then I vainly tried to suppress a moan as his tongue darted over me, licking the entire cleft all the way down to my balls. His beard was rubbing over my sensitive skin simultaneously, adding to a sensation keener and more delectable than I'd ever have guessed.

„Hold still", he murmured, grabbing my backside more firmly, and proceeding to lick with more dedication and gentleness, paying special attention to the sore areas. He pushed his tongue inside, and I sharply drew in breath.

This was one of the most indecent things I'd ever done!

And perhaps one of the most heavenly things as well. It felt electrifying. Still torn between shame and thrill I pushed out my rear end, pressing it even closer to his face to get more of that warm, wet, incredible tongue and his arousingly scratchy beard.

When he pushed my butt cheeks apart and back together in an attempt to squeeze out more thick, milky fluid, I felt my blush deepen and protested feebly. „Captain!"

„Almost done", he said, barely audible. Then the tongue was gone, only his hands remained, gently brushing over my rear end. I turned my head, trying to see what he was doing. He was inspecting his work, gazing thoughtfully, then sighed with a wide grin.

„Y'know what, lad?" he said. „You've got the finest ass in all of Belgium." As though to emphasize his words he placed a light slap on one buttock, then gently squeezed it.

„Um..." My legs were trembling, and I held onto the table for dear life, exhausted and yet still wanting.

„I... I love you too, Captain."


End file.
